


Lightning In My Blood

by Lady_Gadfly



Series: Maleval Week 2014 [7]
Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Diaval is a heavily tattooed punk which works way too well for some reason, F/M, Maleficent is an urban witch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Gadfly/pseuds/Lady_Gadfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern magic AU in which Maleficent is a witch and Diaval is a natural-born shape shifter. Written for Maleval Week Day 7: Blood (+AU).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning In My Blood

It’s a crappy bar on a crappy street in a decidedly crappy part of London. The room is dark and reeks of tobacco, the floor is sticky and the toilets appear to be flooded. It’s exactly the kind of place Daniel loves.

He’s ordered his first pint and has caught the eye of a giggly, pretty young blonde at the other end of the bar. He winks one dark eye at her, combing back his shaggy black hair with his fingers to reveal the marks about his eyes. Once upon a time he would have been mortified to let anyone see them. Now he’s wearing an open-necked shirt unbuttoned down to his sternum, the sleeves rolled up to reveal feathered, ridged marks upon his skin. Silver rings adorn his fingers and a chain with a jet feather charm hangs about his neck. Futhark runes are inked onto his knuckles.

He’s just taken the first sip of his drink when he feels a meaty hand fall heavily on his shoulder. Turning about, he’s met with the sight of a dog-faced man snarling at him. He smells heavily of drink.

“You lookin’ at my bird?”

  
“Bird watching? Indoors? Got no idea what you’re talking about mate.” He tries and fails to turn away from him. The man is still pawing at his shoulder.

“See her?” The man gestures at the pretty blonde who is suddenly looking uncomfortable. “That’s my bird.”  
  
“And a lovely bird she is, you’re a lucky fella. You’re going to have beautiful children. Let us hope they inherit their dad’s searing intellect. Excuse me.” He tries and fails to turn away again. The man has brought his other hand up to Daniel’s other shoulder and is looking intently at his face.

“What the fuck happened to your face, you paddy bastard?”  
  
“Nothing, what happened to yours, you cockney git?”  
  
A lifetime of scrapping has prepared Daniel enough to duck the first swing. It’s wide and clumsy and it’s not too difficult to avoid, but then two of the man’s friends appear and take an arm each to drag him to the back alley and throw him to his knees.

He’s been in more than his fair share of fights in his time, but with the two beefy men holding his arms he’s basically powerless to to anything other than struggle and pray for it to be over soon. The drunkard rains blows down over his head, occasionally pausing to kick him in the stomach. Daniel groans as the man’s boot slams into his ribs, his head snapping back as his fist connects with his nose. What the man lacks in accuracy he makes up for in brute strength and it’s not long before Daniel can feel his head swimming, his peripheral vision starting to blur. Nonetheless he spots the metallic gleam of a knife being brought out of the man’s pocket.

Suddenly every mark on his body _twists_ , and he feels as though his skin is trying to pull itself into another shape. It’s not the first time it’s happened by any means, but it never gets less painful. He screams as the wrenching feeling takes him over, wondering - and a small part of him hoping - if this will be the time they tear him apart. He struggles anew but the men hold him fast.

He’s on the verge of blacking out when he feels a gust of air rush past him and the knife clatters to the ground. The beating stops, his arms released so abruptly that he falls forward onto his already severely bloodied face. Blinking through a haze of agony Daniel turns his head to the side to see the three men running out of the end of the alley like the hounds of hell are after them. He struggles to his feet, stumbles and nearly falls on his face once more.

“Easy there. Let me give you a hand.” A cultured voice reaches his ears as a slender hand takes his. Daniel raises his eyes to find himself looking into the face of the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Full red lips, high cheekbones, thinly arched eyebrows, long dark hair contrasting with pale skin. But it’s her eyes that have him transfixed. They’re the most incredible shade of green shot through with gold. Lightning races through his blood at the sight of those eyes. There’s something in them that reminds him of his gran’s stories of cold iron and hollow hills.

The woman for her part is looking at him rather oddly too, her eyes wandering down to his chest, widening at the marks there.

“Thanks. For doing…what was it you did?” Daniel tilts his head in confusion.

“Does it really matter? Would you rather I let them beat you to death?” She holds herself like a queen and although she is shorter than Daniel she somehow still manages to look down her nose at him, one brow raised as she does so.

“Guess not.” He shrugs and reluctantly releases her hand, swaying slightly. “I’m Daniel, by the way. Daniel Ceallachán. And for saving my life, I am in your debt.” He attempts a bow and nearly ends up on his face again before she catches him.

"Mallory Moore. I think you’d better come with me.”  
  
“Where?”

“I have a shop nearby, I live there. We can get you cleaned up.” Putting his arm over her shoulders, she practically carries him away. She’s stronger than she looks.

“Taking a strange man home with you? You sure about that?”

The strange woman laughs. “Trust me. You can’t hurt me.”

They somehow manage to stumble to her shop – as far as Daniel can tell in the gloom it’s a bookshop - and into the flat above it. Daniel’s head is still spinning in a way that can only mean concussion. She helps him in to the bathroom and carefully sets him down on the toilet lid. He leans until he can see his reflection in the mirror.

“Ugh. Will you just look at what they did to my beautiful self?”

Mallory’s lips twitch into the faintest suggestion of a smile. “Well if you could just keep your _beautiful self_ still for a moment I’ll try to repair the damage a little.”

She cleans the blood off his face as best she can, her fingers flitting briefly over the marks about his eyes. She’s even lovelier in the bright light of the bathroom. She’s wearing a dress of flowing black silk, a silver raven skull adorning a chain about her neck, another on her finger. When she leans in close to dab antiseptic to his face she smells of earth and rain.

“Take off your shirt.” She demands.

“You could at least buy me dinner first.” Mallory rolls her eyes. “Sorry. That’s the concussion talking. Mostly.”

He takes his shirt off slowly, wincing. The fabric falls away to reveal a line of tattooed ogham script running down the column of his spine. Black feathered wings adorn his shoulder blades. Celtic knot bands encircle each bicep. She places an icepack against his ribs and raises her other hand, gesturing to the raised flesh on his sternum.

“May I?” Her voice is oddly quiet. Reverent, even. He nods dumbly. Her fingers slowly run down the raised tissue, a look of absolute awe on her face. Daniel’s not quite sure how the evening ended up like this, but seeing as he’s half-naked and a beautiful woman is stroking his chest he’s not complaining. There’s something oddly humbling about the look on her face. She’s looking at him like he’s something incredible, something more than a beaten, bloody fuck-up.

“I’ve never met one of you before. I thought they were all gone.” She breathes. “Incredible.”  
  
“If you think that’s impressive you should see what under my trousers.” And there it is again. His big bloody mouth getting him in to trouble once more. Mallory gives him an icy glare. “Please don’t hit me I have a concussion.” He squeaks.

“I know what these mean.” She gestures the raised marks, her voice low and conspiratorial. “It’s alright you can tell me.”  
  
“What they mean?” He looks down at himself in confusion. “It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve had them since I was born. The doctors said it was just a skin condition.”

“A _skin condition_?” She looks at him pityingly. “Oh gods. You really have no idea do you?”

“Have no idea about what?”

“I can’t tell you, you’ll never believe me.” She shakes her head.

“Believe what?”

"What you really are."

"Okay well…" Daniel makes to stand. Why are the gorgeous ones always crazy? "Thanks for your help but I should really-"

"You’ve never fitted in." Her wild eyes bore into him. "You’ve spent your entire life feeling like you were born in the wrong time or the wrong place or the wrong family. You look at the people around you and at times you feel like an alien, a freak amongst your own kind." She won’t stop looking at him and Daniel feels dizzy. Her eyes have become the centre of his world, her voice filling his head. "Sometimes your own skin feels like a badly-fitting suit that you just want to tear off. Whenever you feel scared or angry or trapped you can feel these marks twisting and twitching and it both terrifies and thrills you. And every night - every single night - you dream of flying."

Daniel’s hands are shaking, his heart pounding in his ears. “How do you know this? Are you…?” Hope flares in his chest. He wants so badly to meet someone like him, someone who understands.

"No. I’m not like you." Her expression softens in sypmathy as his shoulders droop. "There aren’t many like you, I’m afraid. I’ve only ever read about it."

"Oh."  
  
She tilts her head and looks at him for a long moment, considering something.

“When you said you were in my debt, did you truly mean it?”

“Yes. I’d be dead if not for you.”

"I can teach you. In exchange for you rendering assistance to me as and when I need it."

A prickling sensation runs along the marks on his back. A lifetime of feeling like half a stranger in his own skin. He could finally find out why it was he never belonged anywhere. He glances up at her, trying to decide if she can be trusted.

There’s something in those eyes. Something he wants to devote himself to. Something he wants to serve, which for a lifelong rebel such as himself is a rather odd feeling indeed.

"Whatever you need just name it.”  
  
“Wings.” Her voice is quiet and intense. “I need you to be my wings.”

He doesn’t understand, but something in her words seems right. “I swear to you, anything that is in my power to do, I will do it.” He takes her hand in both of his. It feels right somehow, swearing himself to her like this.

Mallory smiles, and holds her other hand out, placing it flat against his chest. Daniel gasps as a wave of warmth flows over him. His ribs click back together, his nose crunches back in to place. Gold light flashes before his eyes and Daniel staggers as the warmth leaves him. Looking in the mirror he sees he’s been completely healed. There’s not so much as a scratch on him and no hint of a concussion left.

“It would be difficult to teach you if you were all bruised and bloody.  Now.” He turns back to her with wide eyes. “You can sleep on the sofa, it folds out. There’s blankets in the chest behind it. I sleep in on sundays so just feel free to help yourself to breakfast. Don’t even bother trying to steal anything you won’t make it past the wards. Tomorrow after you’ve slept I’ll show you what you can do.”  
  
“What _I_ can do? What…what did…WHAT?!” He turns back and forth from her to the mirror repeatedly.

“We can get started whenever you feel up to it.” She continues as if he hasn’t spoken. “Full disclosure though,” She throws him a wicked grin as she walks out of the room. “It will involve you being naked. G’night!”

She leaves Daniel in the bathroom, sitting dumbly on the toilet lid. He looks at the mirror, at his marked chest, and out the door she’s just left through.

He hopes he can handle whatever it is he’s gotten himself in to.  

**Author's Note:**

> Between Maleval Week, personal stuff and working in the city that was hosting the commonwealth games at time of writing I literally went cross-eyed whilst editing this. Hope it entertains anyway.
> 
> I love me some fictional witches. Especially ones in modern settings. The whole concept of how magic fits in to mundane everyday life just fascinates me.
> 
> The title is taken from the poem ‘Dark Rosaleen' by James Clarence Mangan, an Irish poet. Since Diaval/Daniel is irish it seemed appropriate. Go read it it's a lovely poem.


End file.
